V.
The Martendijks had been about three weeks with the Van Elsts, when the solitary bachelor over the way began to observe some change in his neighbours.
The notary began to go earlier to his office, and to come home later. The little wife, of whom he was growing rather fond by dint of watching her so long, did not take her walks so regularly; and when she played with the children in the garden in the morning, her laugh sounded less merry than it once did. When the old gentleman (who seemed to have assumed this privilege of observing his neighbours with special interest because it might have been his lot to have just such another family) noticed that Mr Van Elst looked cross, and his wife very wearied, he began to grow uneasy, and at last set on foot inquiries through the medium of his own “boys” and those of his neighbours, which resulted in the reassuring news that no one was ill. After that the old bachelor did not know what to make of it.
And yet the explanation was simple enough!
To be ousted from your favourite seat, to have tasteless food set before you, to see your delicate wife tired to death, your horses over-driven, your store-room plundered, all this is very easy to bear,—nay, may even be reckoned among the pleasures of hospitality, if your visitors are agreeable people, whose society compensates for the lack of the usual cosy tête-à-tête, and whose cordial interest in all your concerns proves that they like you and appreciate the friendship you show them. But, when you see that your guests regard you merely as convenient people to spend some time with,—that they take advantage of your hospitality, and honour you with no special cordiality in return,—when they remind you, by their treatment, of certain fruits you throw away once the juice is squeezed out, it is impossible to submit to the visitation with a very good grace!
That certainly was the case here.
Van Elst, moreover, with his warm temperament and strength of character, could ill brook his cold-blooded cousin. He liked men to be firm, and women tender-hearted; and Piet was so weak, and Emily so cold, and the two couples so directly opposed to each other in all their sentiments and opinions, that the most innocent conversations often led to collision. When, for example, Van Elst brought home the news one day that one of their acquaintances had been suddenly taken ill, and Jo asked, with a quaver in her voice and tears in her eyes, if she could do anything to help the poor wife, Emily scarcely listened, and Piet only to inquire anxiously what was the matter—he hoped nothing infectious!
With regard to society, there was great diversity of opinion between the couples. Up country in the Indies it is possible to live on such terms with all the Europeans as to avoid giving offence, while at the same time one cannot be intimate with all. One comes across many people there who are wealthy, who entertain, and are to a certain extent admitted into society, but of so low a stamp intellectually and morally that it is impossible for respectable families to associate familiarly with them.
The Van Elsts had thus soon chosen their own friends, and to this select circle they had introduced their guests.
But the Martendijks struck up acquaintance with a family with whom they had no wish to become intimate.
“Good gracious!” said Max, who did not approve of this at all; “what is there in that man to take your fancy?”
“Not much,” replied Martendijk.
“Surely his wife isn’t the attraction, then?—a stupid insignificant creature like that!”
“Yes, she is very stupid,” said Martendijk. “But she is a capital cook,” he added, after a moment.
“Well, but they’re not people to get so very intimate with. Perhaps you don’t know that he has a very shady reputation,—it is well known that he got that factory into his hands by a very dirty trick. They say he made the former owner drunk, and then——”
“That’s very likely true,” interposed Martendijk coolly; “he looks to me just that sort of man. But that does not prevent his keeping capital wine, and being very generous with his help——”
“For any sake hold your tongue!” cried Max, suddenly turning his back on his guest.
But the most violent explosion took place one morning at the breakfast-table, when the conversation turned upon one of their aunts—a sister of Martendijk’s father and Max’s mother—who was in great poverty, and had been very unfortunate.
“I have not troubled my head about her for years,” said Piet. “I may tell you I make a point of interesting myself only in my respectable relatives.”
“You mean in those who have got on well in the world,” observed Max. “Aunt Liza is a worthy respectable woman, whose only fault is her poverty.”
“But she had no position at all in Delft,” said Emily. (Martendijk was silent: he preferred not to argue with his cousin when Max’s eyes flashed like that.) “She dealt in tea, I think, or knitting-cotton, or something of that kind.”
“Yes, just so, in tea,” said Max; “exactly in the same way as your husband deals in sugar, and your father in cheese. Good-morning!”
“Good gracious, Jo, what a temper your husband is in!” exclaimed Emily, who was determined not to take offence, because she was very comfortable with Martendijk’s relatives, and the building at their own place at Soeka-Manies—the real reason for their visiting—was still going on.
“Yes,” said Martendijk, the courage of his opinions returning as soon as he heard Max drive away; “I don’t see why on earth he should get so excited!”
What surprised the Van Elsts more than anything else, was the relation of the couple to one another. The same man and woman, who had not one grain of sympathy for the troubles of others, or for the most terrible national calamity, and who were totally impervious to the sufferings of even their friends and relations, were full of devotion to one another.
If Piet was not quite the thing, Emily was full of anxiety; and if she looked worried, Piet did his best to conquer his despondency. In short, disagreeable though they were in every other respect, they were a model couple. It was difficult for a third person to start any subject of conversation with them, because nothing interested them which did not affect themselves directly or indirectly; but they were never at a loss for a subject when by themselves, and their conversation was inexhaustible so long as they could devote themselves unreservedly to the discussion of their own affairs, bringing every effort of mind to bear on what concerned them alone.
Money was a favourite topic: how they could enjoy this or that together—it was always together!—without much expense; how to manage their domestic expenditure most satisfactorily; how to invest a small sum securely—and so on.
They spent so long over these interesting details, that it was impossible for outsiders to take any part in their discussions.